


Of The Night

by lokifell



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Consensual Underage Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Fake Character Death, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Inspired by "Of The Night" by Bastille, Nightclub, Older Man/Younger Woman, Petyr is the deceiver we all love so much, Sansa is "dead", Unrequited Love, this is the rhythm of the night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:55:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29263881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokifell/pseuds/lokifell
Summary: Sansa is dead to the world, or so the Lannisters believe. Living in the outskirts of King's Landing, she has found comfort between the arms of a family friend, the owner of "The Mockingbird". However, falling more and more for the man, Sansa soon realises the harsh nature of unrequited feelings.
Relationships: Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark
Kudos: 15





	Of The Night

She felt breathless, as if she had been running a marathon, but not a single drop of sweat was running down her face. The street she was in was quiet, only lit by the lampposts, while the cars and the buildings of the area were throwing shadows on the tarmac, producing dark hideouts as perfect bolthole to hide in. Each kind of felon would be able to blend in with the surroundings. _As if it was the worst thing that could happen,_ Sansa thought. In the distance she could hear the low police’s siren and, as she approached the rustic building little by little, the rumble of the music coming from the basement, which was becoming louder and louder. With her hood over her head, covering her fire-like hair framing the face, she shrank inside her letterman leather jacket (well, not actually hers, but her brother Robb’s, the last thing she had left of him) and continued walking down the street. The bitter middle-winter wind sneaked through every tiny crack inside her clothes, and the icy shiver crawling down her back forced her to pick up the pace as goosebumps formed on her skin. She turned right and rapidly entered the alley, backlit only by the lamppost at the end of the road. Looking over her shoulder to check that no one was following her, Sansa found herself facing a service entrance. Swiftly she inserted the code and the door unlocked with a click; once inside, she secured the lock behind her. Releasing a sigh of relief, the girl leaned against the door, waiting for her heartbeat to stop pounding so violently against her chest, to finally return at a normal pace; but she knew it would not last very long. She couldn’t even remember what it was like to have a life at ease, a life lived without worrying about what could happen; without the whistle inside her ears, the sound of the heart pumping the blood in her veins, that anxious feeling occluding her throat, she would have thought that a disaster was just around the corner. She lowered the hood and started running down along the steep staircase where a violet neon light was coming from, while music burst her brain more and more. When she opened the front door to the nightclub, the tunes from “Of The Night” engulfed her completely, leaving her heart sink at every keynote. The coloured light wrapped her form up, making her unrecognisable, as if she had entered a new reality.

She really hoped she wouldn’t have to see him tonight.

Beginning to walk down the narrow hallway, she tried to get out of the way, where patrons of all ages were rubbing up against the club’s hookers, where men were dragged towards empty rooms and other people so impatient were fucking directly against the wall. Needless to say everyone knew what kind of place “The Mockingbird” was. Only men from the upper class went there; it was the best nightclub on the market and offered any service one could think of. Thanks to the exceptional discretion that circulated around, even important politicians showed there at times, knowing their reputation would come out unscathed. “What happens in the Mockingbird, stays in the Mockingbird”. Or at least they thought so. There had been a moment in Sansa’s life when she wasn’t aware of the existence of such businesses, and if she knew she was conscious she would have had nothing to do with them. And yet she now breathed the same air as they did. The girl came out from that pokey corridor, ending up in much more spacious and not-too-crowdy room, lightened by stroboscopic rays that were creating marvellous iridescent reflections on the walls. The majority of the room was occupied by poles around which the half-naked dancers were moving. Each one of them seemed to have been sculpted straight by an artist for the perfect uniformity of the limbs, the accurately-drawn features of the face, for the pink and plump lips and the immaculate skin, free from imperfections. Every time Sansa looked at them, she remained astonished by their baffling beauty. Most of them were dancing, others were maliciously talking to customers, and others were sprawled out on the couches snogging somebody. Sansa went over the bar counter, where Ros was serving drinks.

“I’m back. I’ll go upstairs now”, she said absent-mindedly, still gazing at the people in the room. She knew what her mind was trying to do, but she also knew she would remain disappointed, or so Sansa hoped. The woman behind the counter, she with red hair too, but not as vivid as the younger one’s (even if it was impossible to tell under that light), glanced at her and went back to work.

“Alright, I’ll come by later to check if you need anything.”

And it was in that moment, when Ros was saying those words, that Sansa saw him; and her heart sank. There he was, sprawled against the couch in the loft at the end of the room with a couple of other men, each of them focused on groping just as many women with only a thong on. A third girl was straddling him while the man voraciously kissed her neck. It was nothing new really, but it hurt nonetheless. Sansa could see how he was enjoying himself, lips slightly parted in pleasure. His hand, adorned with rings, moved across her employee’s naked skin while the other was precariously bringing a glass filled with alcohol to his mouth. The hooker’s hand (was it Myranda? She looked just like her from behind) was running through his hair, pulling their locks while she pounced on his neck with her face. _There was a time when only I could do that._ Sansa was petrified, with her breath stuck in the throat and the eyes fixed on the scene, eyes that wouldn’t let any detail slip from her, images that would hunt her in her dreams. And she watched while Petyr left a tray of kisses along the side of her neck, from the jawline to the shoulder blade; and then he saw Sansa. Their glances met and tied up together, green-mottled grey with blue-sapphire of her eyes, and his smirk widened across his features.

_Round and round we go_

_Each time I hear you say_

The Stark’s elder daughter seemed to emerge from that hypnosis trance she had fallen in, and in less than a blink she fled from the club, rapidly climbing the staircase that led to the flat in the upper part of the building. She was thankful for the silence she got when the front door of the house closed behind her, even if she could still hear the beats of the music coming from the lower floors. She left her jacket in the doorway and started wandering around the place, attempting to calm the throbbing sensation inside her chest while breathing heavily and closing her eyes for a few seconds. She wanted to cry, but no tears managed to come out. _It’s not worth it,_ Sansa told herself, and went to her bedroom. In that house she was constantly alone, even when Ros and the others paid her a visit, but only because Petyr told them so; everything reminded her of him, every expensive piece of furniture around the house was worth more than herself at the moment; and Petyr granted himself only the best. Still, all she wanted to do at the moment was pack the bags and go away, anything to make the wounds of her heart stop bleeding so profusely. Surrounded by all the things the man had given her, spoiled by each gift, Sansa thought she now couldn’t touch anything without being in debt with him. She still did not understand how she could fancy such a man. _I’m too broken to fall for anyone else._ She let the moment of the shower wash away every thought: with her eyes closed and her nostrils filled with water, she felt as if she was drowning, a scenario that gave her the impression to be aware of who she was and of what was there. Unfortunately, it was all just an illusion. The light freckles appeared livelier once her skin was dried, and her copper hair fell down her exposed shoulders. It was three in the morning, and Sansa was not able to bring herself under the covers of her bed, her mind still too occupied by her thoughts to let her peacefully sleep. As the house was fully immersed in the dim light, she stopped in front of the large glass window of the living room, facing directly the road she had walked down earlier in the night, the yellow reflections of the lampposts as the only source of illumination inside the flat. Suddenly she heard the jingling of keys and the front door opened up.

“Ros, I don’t need anything, you may go, thanks”, Sansa said hurriedly without even turning around, impatient to come back to that blissful nocturnal silence.

“Still up, Sansa?”, a male voice answered. The blood froze in her veins. Letting the curtain of her hair cover her face, the girl turned towards him and got drunk at the sight of Petyr Baelish, of his unkept look, of the dishevelled dark grey suit he was wearing and of the black shirt just barely unbuttoned down his neckline. Before him she felt her heart race, beating so loudly she was afraid he could hear it. He was staring at the girl right inside her lapis lazuli eyes, his own veiled by a dark shadow, that unmistakable lust that many times made her lose control.

“Can’t sleep”, Sansa answered.

“Do you need company?”, Petyr asked with his usual smug face.

“We had fun tonight, didn’t we?”, she deflected the conversation. The last thing her brain needed was the image of him buried between her legs.

The man didn’t reply, he limited himself to look at her. Sansa carried on.

“How is Myranda?”

“Someone here is jealous”, he chanted, his smirk now ever wider.

Sansa returned it. She would not allow him to understand she was bothered by this.

“I’m just stating facts. You smell like her, I can feel it from here”, and she had to keep the maximum control to not let her voice break while she was speaking those final words; it would have been a too great defeat to show her feelings so easily to a man that wouldn’t show nothing of himself to others.

Mr. Baelish moved towards the counter of the kitchen and leaned against it, hands in the pockets.

“You came back later than usual.”

“I wanted to have fun, is it bad?”

“I have no idea in which ways a dead person could have fun”.

His words cut through her like with the sharpen blade of truth, but Sansa spoke nothing, she just turned herself again towards the window. She heard footsteps, and then a hand laid on her naked shoulder, exposed by the undershirt she was wearing. If she hadn’t known the heaters were on, she would have believed it was his touch to have sent her on fire. Oh, but she wasn’t fooling anyone: of course, it was him. She exhaled his smell so close to her, so inebriating and disgusting at the same time, since it was contaminated with Myranda’s fragrance. The girl looked at him, and felt her knees go weak under the piercing gaze of those two grey-jewels eyes.

“Sansa, it’s just work. Why do you care so much?” Here comes the lie, lying in plain sight. She almost wanted to laugh at how pathetic she had become, still believing his lies, still hanging off his words. And every time she was surprised at his ability to find excuses so easily.

“What makes you think I care?”, she asked, faking indifference in her voice.

One of his hands closed around the back of her head, tangling in her still damp hair, as he delicately rubbed his thumb across her cheek. The cold metal from his rings was the only thing giving relief to Sansa’s red-hot skin.

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you. Since when did you think you were an exclusive?”

The mocking tone in his voice was as effective as a slap in the face.

“I never thought I was.”

“Good girl. Never lie to yourself about things that do not exist. Nothing fruitful comes out of it.”

_This is just another of his lessons, I can’t believe it._

A sea of emotions was overwhelming Sansa in that moment, as once again the truth of the matter smacked her right in the face. She was praying that none of them was appearing.

_Won't you teach me how to love and learn?_

_There'll be nothing left for me to yearn_

She needed to distract him, to set his mind on something else, because he had the typical look of when he was thinking hard, and she knew exactly what he was dwelling on. _My feelings for him._ If that meant suffering now to spare herself a major heartache later, she would go for it.

“So, do you let any girl pull your hair like that or only the ones you sleep with?”

A laugh escaped from Petyr’s lips. He tightened his grasp around her neck; he knew precisely was she was talking about.

“You really like teasing me, don’t you sweetling?”, he told her in a low voice, more like a whisper, just loud enough for her to hear. Sansa was grateful that the man was holding her, or she would have already collapsed to the ground by now. It was like a pleasant torture, an agony that turned her stomach, but at the same time made her wet between her legs. She hoped it would terminate soon.

As to put an end to that tension, Petyr landed on her lips at last, framing them with his teeth and gripping that rosy flesh so unexpectedly that Sansa exhaled a nervous breath. She could barely keep up as she was devoured by the kiss, while his tongue was caressing her own. The girl melted at the contact. He threaded his hands through her long hair and slowly pulled them back, giving him better access to her mouth. Sansa was totally overpowered by him. Her legs had become two jelly pieces and the arms were beginning to shake. She hated the effect Petyr had on her and at the same time she couldn’t do without it. And the worst thing was that he knew. Truth was he could simply glance at her once a day, tell her something nice, and Sansa would still reduce herself to a hyperventilating mess.

At a sudden, his hand sneaked down at the apex of her legs, already tightened as the first signs of pleasure took over.

“I haven’t even brushed against you, and you are already so soaked for me”, he said, lifting her up while holding by the hips. Clutched around his waist, Sansa could feel the erection against her thighs.

“And you look ready for a second round”, she panted, earning another lustful glance.

Buried inside the sheets of his bed, trapped between the layers of the covers and the man she was making love to – it was love for her, it was just sex to him –, her mind wandered among peaks of ecstasy, between the sticky feeling on her inner thighs and the contact with his skin, the itching sensation of the beard regrowth against the side of her neck. The burns left by each kiss, the words whispered to her ear (“Look at you, I've only started using my fingers and you're already shaking”), the feeling of fullness while he moved inside of her, it was all more than enough to collapse in on herself, more than enough to make her powerless before him.

_Think of me and burn_

_And let me hold your hand_

When Sansa opened her eyes again, it was morning. The sunlight filtered from the window through the white curtains, lighting the room of rainbow colours once it refracted against the mirror on the facing wall. A shiver ran down her back and shoulders; she must have moved in her sleep. When she turned around towards the rest of the room, she noticed that the other side of the bed was cold and empty, with the sheets pulled to the side; the only thing left of Petyr was the shape of his head on the pillow. It happened every time. Wondering jokingly if he were a vampire, Sansa closed her eyes for a moment, taking all the time to let the stabbing ache inside her chest reduce. But somehow it never went completely away.

“If that’s not the rhythm of the night”, she muttered to herself, aware that no one was willing to listen to her anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed reading this oneshot!  
> I'm sorry for any grammatical mistakes you may have found in the story: this was not beta-ed by anyone and english is not my mothertongue.  
> Let me know your thoughts in the comment section pls, it would mean very much to me xx


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